


Blue Paint

by TransManWillGraham (BisexualHannibalLecter)



Series: Eat Your Heart Out [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crime Scenes, Crying, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Rape Recovery, Season/Series 01, Sexual Tension, Trans Will Graham, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26051323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BisexualHannibalLecter/pseuds/TransManWillGraham
Summary: He rolls his shoulders and closes his eyes, imaging the room around him and allowing himself to settle into the mind of the killer.He sees himself, in the killer’s shoes, walking into the bathroom, timed perfectly as the woman slips into the bathroom stall. He locks the door, gloves already on his hands, and approaches the stall. He waits in the stall next to the woman’s. Waits and waits until he hears the telltaleclickof the stall being unlocked. He exits his stall, turns the corner, and grabs the woman, shoving her back into her stall. The force of the imaginary impact sends Will’s world spinning, and when he blinks he is no longer the killer.
Relationships: Jack Crawford & Will Graham, Will Graham & Brian Zeller, Will Graham/Brian Zeller
Series: Eat Your Heart Out [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891141
Comments: 14
Kudos: 89
Collections: Hannibal Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I decided not to use the rape/non-con warning because all instances of sexual abuse are past events, but they are referenced/discussed, and there is an instance where Will relives the beginning of his trauma while attempting to put himself in the killer's shoes. If sexual abuse, especially CSA, is a triggering topic for you, I don't recommend reading this story. It is partially based upon personal experience, like many of my other trauma fics, and was difficult but cathartic to write.

Will follows closely behind Jack as he leads him to the crime scene. Jack hadn’t given him any details since he was so close by when the FBI arrived on the scene, had only told him to show up and he’d fill him in when he arrived.

Jack stops outside a bathroom door, the women’s restroom, and turns to Will.

“The scene is in there. You might want to read up on what we’ve got so far before you go in there. Even the rest of the team is uneasy.” Jack swallows, looking off to the side, visibly put off. “Moved the body as soon as we could.”

Will raises a brow, wondering what the need would be for them to move the body. He wonders if the victim had been partially undressed when they were found, giving the location of the crime scene. 

He opens the file and begins to read. The first words that catch his eye are  _ serial rapist  _ and everything clicks. Will shudders and reads on, digesting information regarding the killer’s patterns and methods thus far. There are five victims listed in the file, none matching today’s date. Will guesses this must be his sixth.

Will tries to keep his hands steady as he looks at photos of the bodies. The images in the file are cut off above and below the chest and pelvic areas, mainly showing upper arms and torsos covered in hand-shaped bruises. Will feels on the verge of sickness, but he takes a deep breath and tries to relax.

“I’m ready,” he says, closing the file.

Jack looks him over, like he doesn’t quite believe him. Will only stares back expectantly until Jack nods and pushes the door open.

“Everybody out,” he says. “Clear the room, come back in ten.”

Various members of the forensics team file out of the room, including Zeller, who glances at Will with a concerned and apologetic look in his eyes. Will looks away.

He passes the file back to Jack, who quickly takes it and leaves the room, leaving Will all alone in a disturbing, off-white bathroom with one bloody stall. He rolls his shoulders and closes his eyes, imaging the room around him and allowing himself to settle into the mind of the killer.

He sees himself, in the killer’s shoes, walking into the bathroom, timed perfectly as the woman slips into the bathroom stall. He locks the door, gloves already on his hands, and approaches the stall. He waits in the stall next to the woman’s. Waits and waits until he hears the telltale  _ click _ of the stall being unlocked. He exits his stall, turns the corner, and grabs the woman, shoving her back into her stall. The force of the imaginary impact sends Will’s world spinning, and when he blinks he is no longer the killer.

Will can’t see anyone at first, just a shadow pressing him against the wall. He feels a bit shorter and a bit heavier than before. He feels  _ wrong _ .

Suddenly, he isn’t being held in place at all. He’s pressed against the wall all by himself, boxed in by someone else’s body, but not held in place. He looks at the floor, no longer off-white, now a mix of ash grays and blues. The stall doesn’t feel like wood anymore, replaced by cold, hollow metal. He looks at his shoes, at his jeans, and then looks at the other person’s shoes. His eyes run up the person’s body, from gray jeans to an old tshirt, and it’s  _ him _ .

It’s been over twenty years, and Will can still feel his hands on him as if it had been yesterday. He shakes as the man kisses him, staring over his shoulder to see peeling blue paint and a phone sat atop a plastic toilet paper holder. He feels like he could cry. There’s a hand at his waist, slipping under his hoodie, and another fiddling with the button on his jeans. The tongue in his mouth feels like a slug crawling around. He watches the timer on the phone tick down from five minutes.

When the hand begins to slip into his underwear, he crumbles, shoving the man away with weak, shaking arms. Parts of his body feel like they’re on fire. He feels like he can’t breathe. He slides down against the wall, drawing his knees to his chest and scratching his nails against the floor. The other man disappears, like a dissipating shadow, and Will buries his face in his hands.

He hears a phone buzzing, the signal of his timer running out, and his ears start ringing. He just wants the nightmare to end.

A voice cuts through the cacophony of ringing and buzzing and heavy breathing.

“Will?” A pause, soft steps. “Will!”

Will looks up, and the ringing stops. The nightmare has disappeared. He’s in a button-down plaid, not a hoodie. His phone is in his pocket. He is back in the ugly, off-white bathroom, sitting alone in a stall next to the victim’s, with Jack standing over him off to the side.

As soon as he looks up at Jack, he looks back down. “I’m fine,” he says.

Jack regards him with concern, and a bit of regret and guilt. “You’re crying.”

Will wipes his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “I’m fine,” he repeats.

“You were shaking. I thought you were having a panic attack.” Jack holds his hand out.

Will doesn’t take it. “I screwed up,” he says, getting to his feet. “Got distracted. I’m fine.”

“ _ Will, _ ” Jack says sternly. “You’re not fine.”

“It’s been twenty-two fucking years, Jack,” he snaps. He meets Jack’s eyes, sees the realization dawn on his face, and instantly deflates. He wants to cry again. He isn’t fine. He isn’t even close to fine. “I’m fine.”

“Go see Dr. Lecter.”

“I don’t need therapy,” he insists, pushing past Jack and going over to the sink. He turns on the faucet, waiting until the water comes out warm before wetting a paper towel and wiping his eyes. The redness doesn’t go away. “I can’t help you with this one, Jack. Find someone else.”

Will doesn’t give Jack a chance to reply. He walks out the bathroom door, freezing when he comes face to face with the rest of the forensics team. Zeller catches his eye again, as does Beverly.

Will averts his eyes and rushes past them, not stopping until he’s made it to his car. His hands shake as he tries to put his key in the ignition, his other hand tightening around the steering wheel. He nearly screams in frustration when his keys slip out of his hand, landing on the rubber mat. He leans his head against the wheel and his shoulders shake. Tears roll down his cheeks, accompanied by muffled whimpers as he cries into his hand.

Will continues to sit there, even after he stops crying. He isn’t sure how much time passes, but the light shining into his car was fading slowly. He stares at the glint of sunlight bouncing off of his keys from where they lay in the floorboard.

A soft knock on the window startles him. He bolts upright, one of his hands colliding with the steering wheel and causing him to curse. He turns his head, anger bubbling up to the surface, and it all dissolves when he locks eyes with Zeller through the glass.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

Will looks at him, looks away, and contemplates lying. A memory of Zeller’s arms around him hits him, and he thinks better of it, shaking his head.

Zeller opens the car door. “Do you want me to drive you home?” he asks. “You’re not supposed to drive when you’re upset.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d heard Zeller say that. He wants to laugh and cry all at once just thinking about it, but he holds himself together.

“How are you gonna get home?” Will asks. The words feel weird as they leave his mouth, as if his tongue and jaw don’t want to cooperate.

“Bev drove me over. She said she’d follow us and drive me back,” he says. “Come on, get out.”

Will licks his lips. His limbs feel heavy as he moves. “You could stay the night,” he suggests, looking away from him. “I could drive you back tomorrow. You don’t work tomorrow.”

Zeller sighs. “Will—”

“Not like that,” Will says, finally looking at him. “I just… I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Zeller softens. “Get in the car,” he whispers. “I’ll go tell Bev to go home.”

Will could kiss him. He wants to. Instead, he just nods. “Thank you,” he replies, walking around the car to slide into the passenger seat. 

He watches Zeller walk away, watches him talk to Beverly. His insides twist as Bev’s features bounce between concerned and confused. Will knows he can trust Zeller to keep his mouth shut, even as his anxiety screams at him that he’ll say something. 

After what feels like several moments too long, Zeller finally turns away from Beverly, and she locks eyes with Will. She gives him a small smile, and Will fights to return it. By the way her smile widens, he supposes he succeeded.

Zeller climbs into the driver’s seat and retrieves the keys from the floorboard. The first few minutes of the drive back to Wolf Trap are silent, only the sound of the car cutting through the quiet.

And then, finally, Zeller asks, “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“I already told you what happened,” Will snarks.

Zeller sighs, but he isn’t deterred. “At the crime scene, Will. Do you want to talk about it?”

Will swallows. “No.”

“Okay.”

The rest of the drive is as silent as it began. Eventually, the sound of the engine is interrupted by Will’s snores, but Zeller isn’t bothered. He continues driving, smiling softly to himself, hoping that the rest is bringing Will some semblance of peace.

He tries not to be too loud as he parks and exits the car, but the sound of seven excited dogs quickly foils Zeller’s plan to get Will into the house relatively undisturbed.

Will groans and rubs his eyes, heavy from sleep and itchy from dried tears. He doesn’t even think about the door opening, or the arms helping him out of the car, until he’s slumped against Zeller. He buries his face in his shoulder and hums, barely registering the sounds of his dogs barking.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

“Will,” Zeller says, trying to get him upright.

Will stands, nearly nose to nose with Zeller. His eyes drift to Zeller’s mouth.

“I miss you,” he says.

Will’s eyes, still locked on Zeller’s lips, don’t see the heartbreak in his eyes when he responds, “I miss you, too.” He clears his throat. “Let’s get inside.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zeller spends the night with Will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for the pain that I'm abt to put y'all through

Zeller allows Will to lean against him as they make their way to the front door, Will retrieving his key and unlocking it. Zeller tries to ignore the warmth he feels when Will smiles wide and kneels, greeting each of his dogs. Zeller steps inside and locks the door, looking around the room as he gives Will some time to tend to his dogs.

He takes a seat on the couch, checks his phone for missed calls, replies to a couple of texts he got from Beverly during the drive, and slides his phone back into his pocket just as Will settles beside him.

“They’ve got fresh food and water, and I just let them all out,” Will says.

“Shouldn’t you watch them?”

Will shakes his head. “They don’t run off for more than an hour, if at all. They’re fine. Buster will come scratching at the door when they’re all ready to be let back inside.”

Zeller hums. “Are you hungry?” he asks, hoping to find something that could keep them distracted from each other.

“No. Are you?”

He can’t lie, so he shakes his head. “Not really. Had a late lunch with Bev and Price.” He drums his fingers against his thigh. “Do you want to talk about it now, or do you want to wait until in the morning?”

Will’s fingers dig into the armrest of the couch. “Do I have to talk about it at all?” he asks.

“No,” Zeller replies. “But I know it does more harm than good to push it down and pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I want to forget,” Will says. His other hand, the one that isn’t ruining the armrest, settles on the cushion between himself and Zeller. “Help me forget.”

Zeller looks down at Will’s hand for a moment before slowly placing his own hand atop it. He turns his gaze up to look at Will, who stares at him, as if he’s waiting for something, before leaning in, eyes slipping shut as he gets closer. Halfway to bridging the gap, Zeller stops Will with a hand on this shoulder.

“I should’ve stopped you at the crime scene,” Zeller whispers. “I shouldn’t have let you go in there.”

Will jerks away from Zeller, his expression hardening. “Why? So you wouldn’t have to deal with me?”

“So you wouldn’t have to feel like this,” Zeller replies softly, reaching out to take Will’s hand again.

Will pulls away, pressing himself against the armrest. “I don’t need you to make me feel like a burden,” he says sharply.

Zeller lips form a tight line. “You’re not a burden, Will,” he replies sternly.

“Then why won’t you touch me?” Will demands, whipping around angrily to face Zeller. Just as soon as his anger flares, it dissipates, rage giving way to sorrow as he sees the concerned look on Zeller’s face. His voice is shaky as he asks, “Why can’t we pretend that I’m not fucked up?”

Zeller takes Will’s face in his hands gently, stroking his thumb along Will’s cheek. “You’re not fucked up,” he whispers. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Will.”

Will opens his mouth, but Zeller cuts him off.

“We can’t just pretend like you were never hurt, Will. We can’t pretend that you’re not still in pain.” Zeller brushes away tears as they fall from Will’s eyes. “And we can’t pretend that having sex will make it all feel better.”

“But it will,” he protests weakly. “It always… I always feel better.” He wraps a hand around one of Zeller’s wrists, rubbing his thumb along the top of his hand. “I feel safe with you. I never…” Will lets out a shuddering breath. “I never feel safe.”

Zeller’s heart breaks all over again. “It’ll feel good,” he agrees. “For a moment. It’ll feel good until you wake up and realize what you did. It’ll feel good until you’re rushing to the bathroom to shower and you feel like you can’t scrub hard enough. It won’t feel good enough to make up for how bad it’s going to feel when you come down from that high.”

Will whimpers, trying hard to choke down his sobs. In the end, he collapses against Zeller, face pressed against his shoulder as he cries. Zeller holds him tightly against his body, cradling the back of his head with one hand and rubbing circles into his back with the other.

“I saw him!” Will cries. “I was—” He hiccups between sobs. “I was try-trying to imagine… the crime scene… and it turned into  _ him _ . A-and the walls were  _ blue _ and he was—” Will whimpers against Zeller’s shoulder and tries to tuck himself into Zeller’s side.

“I know,” he whispers. “I know. I’ve got you. You’re safe. He’s halfway across the world right now. Just breathe, okay? Breathe for me, Will.”

“But what—” Will sniffles and inhales shakily, fingers digging into Zeller’s jacket. “What if he comes back?”

“He won’t come near you. He doesn’t even know where you live,” Zeller says, shushing Will softly. “If anyone even comes near this house, you’ve got seven dogs that will bark their heads off until you wake up and tear apart anyone who tries to hurt you. And if you’re ever worried, you can call me.”

“Y-you’re an hour away,” Will says. 

“And I’ll still come when you call.” Zeller pulls Will’s face away from his shoulder, wiping away his tears. “Any time you call, no matter what.”

_ I love you _ , hung in the air between them, unspoken yet heard.

Will leaned in again, and Zeller couldn’t bring himself to pull away this time. Mere inches rested between them before the moment was interrupted by scratching on the door.

“You should let them inside,” Zeller says.

Will stays where he is, hands clinging desperately to Zeller’s jacket. “They can sleep on the porch tonight,” he says, voice rough from crying.

“Will,” he says, his hands drifting to Will’s shoulders again, as if to push him away like before.

“Brian,” Will breathes, hands cupping Zeller’s face gently.

Zeller places a hand over Will’s, turning his head to kiss his palm. “We shouldn’t.”

“Just a kiss,” Will says. “I won’t feel dirty from a kiss.” He leans his forehead against Zeller’s. “I miss kissing you,” he admits.

Zeller misses it, too. He’s missed kissing Will for years.

“One kiss,” he says. “One kiss and then you let the dogs in and we go to bed.”

Will nods. “One kiss,” he agrees.

Will leans in, and Zeller meets him in the middle, kissing him softly and holding him against his chest. Will’s lips begin to move against Zeller’s, deepening the kiss, and their respective self-control begins to slip away. Will’s hand slides into Zeller’s hair, and one of Zeller’s arms wraps around Will’s waist. When they break for air, however, Zeller lets him go, pushing him away gingerly with a hand on his chest.

“Go let the dogs in,” he says.

Will is frozen in place for a moment, staring at Zeller, eyes moving from his face to his neck to his shirt, taking him in as he processes what just happened. Finally, he nods, standing up and leaving the room.

Zeller watches him go and tries not to think too hard about how much he wants to grab him and pull him back onto the couch, about how he wants to wake up to the sun streaming through the window and the dogs barking at the back door and his legs tangled with Will’s. As hard as he tries, he can’t stop thinking about it.

Zeller gets up as he hears seven sets of paws run into the house, suddenly swarmed by Will’s dogs, all nudging him and nuzzling him and sniffing at him. He steps around them, following Will to the bedroom.

“Do you have anything I can change into?” Zeller asks.

Will nods, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and beginning to unlace his boots. “Bottom drawer,” he says.

Zeller walks over to the dresser, kneeling and pulling out the bottom drawer, finding a few tshirts and a few pairs of boxers. They’re not quite Will’s size. 

“Are these mine?” Zeller asks softly. He wonders if Will even heard him.

Will swallows. “Yes. Accidentally found its way into my stuff when I moved out.”

“That was eight years ago,” Zeller says, grabbing a shirt and a pair of boxers.

“I meant to give them back once I realized,” Will says. He shrugs. “I just… I always forgot.”

Zeller could tell Will was lying, but he didn’t say anything about it. “Got a spare toothbrush by any chance?”

Will throws his flannel and socks into a basket in the corner of the room and starts unbuttoning his jeans. “Bathroom,” he says. “Under the sink, second drawer on the left hand side.”

Zeller nods and leaves the room as Will starts kicking his pants off. He changes into the tshirt and boxers, folding the rest of his clothing up and setting on a shelf next to Will’s towels. He brushes his teeth, then throws water on his face to try and clear his head. It doesn’t help.

Zeller checks the medicine cabinet, looking alongside a bottle of Aspirin and two vials of testosterone for anything that might help him sleep. A knock on the bathroom door startles him.

“I’ve gotta pee,” Will says. “Hurry up.”

Zeller chuckles and shuts the medicine cabinet. “You were a bathroom hog the entire time I lived with you, I think you can stand to wait another minute.” He can hear Will laugh softly on the other side of the door, and warmth blooms in his chest.

“Brian, it’s my house, and I have seven dogs. Get the hell out of my bathroom.”

Zeller opens the door and pokes his head out of the bathroom. “Or what?” he asks.

Will slaps the door, smiling wide. “Out.”

Zeller opens the door the rest of the way and steps aside. “Alright, alright, I’m going.” He leaves Will to his devices and heads back to the bedroom, now dimly lit by a single lamp on the nightstand. He turns the covers back and sits on the mattress.

A few of the dogs are settled around the bed, and the rest can be seen on cushions and dog beds scattered around the living room. Zeller chuckles at the sight of one of the smaller dogs fighting Winston over a cushion in front of the fireplace.

He settles into bed, turning onto his side and staring at the window, slivers of moonlight filtering through the blinds. After a couple of minutes, he hears a toilet flush, followed by the sound of running water from the sink. Another minute passes, and then he hears the bathroom door creak open. Soft footsteps cross the threshold of Will’s bedroom, and the lamp switches off with a soft click, prompting Zeller to roll over. 

He can barely see Will’s form as it climbs into bed beside him. He certainly doesn’t see the hand that reaches out for him, completely unaware until he feels it rest on his cheek. He feels Will’s breath fan across his face, a sign of how close he is.

“Will…”

“You didn’t say how many kisses I could have after we went to bed.” Will shifts when Zeller doesn’t reply. “Do you not want to kiss me?” he asks.

“I do,” he answers, maybe a bit too quickly. He can’t deny how much he wants Will. He’s never been able to deny that. “I always want to kiss you, Will.”

Will’s thumb brush against Zeller’s cheek. “Okay.”

“I’m just worried,” Zeller says, wrapping an arm around Will. “I’m always worried when this happens. I don’t want you to be upset tomorrow.”

“I told you—”

“I know.” Zeller sighs. “I know. I’m still worried, though.”

_ I’m not going to break,  _ Will thinks.  _ I’m already broken. _

“One more,” Will pleads softly. “Just one.” He tugs at Zeller’s sleeve. “Like how we used to.”

Zeller follows the tug, propping himself up on his forearms, one on either side of Will, boxing him in. “Is this okay?” he asks.

One of Will’s hands runs up Zeller’s arm, settling on his bicep. The other winds into his hair, feeling Zeller’s hair slip through his fingers. He thinks about how they haven’t held each other like this in years. He thinks about how this is the safest he ever feels, other than when Zeller distracts him in a different kind of way.

“Yes,” Will breathes, pulling him down.

Zeller bumps his nose against Will’s, just barely brushes their lips together, taking a moment to feel him in the dark. His knuckles brush against Will’s jaw, and he thinks about nights just like this one, from years ago.

_ I love you,  _ he almost says, but he bites his tongue. Maybe in the morning, when Will’s thoughts weren’t clouded with anxiety.

He kisses Will softly, and just as he predicted, one kiss turns into two, and then three, and then four. On the sixth kiss he pulls away, and Will whines.

“One more,” he says.

“One more is never one more,” Zeller replies, kissing him on the forehead. “Get some sleep, Will. Please.” Zeller pulls away and lays on his side again.

Will nods, even though Zeller can barely see it. “Okay.” Will presses himself close to Zeller, tucking his head under Zeller’s chin. “Thank you for staying.”

“Any time, Will,” Zeller says, kissing the top of his head. “Good night.”

Will relaxes completely in Zeller’s arms. “Good night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this, please leave me a kudos and tell me what you thought in the comments! You can find me on Tumblr @bisexywill

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story please leave a kudos! Comments are super appreciated! If you want to find/follow/friend me on other platforms, here are my usernames! Don’t be shy! 
> 
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